Latest news with #integration
South China Morning Post
11 hours ago
- Politics
- South China Morning Post
Syria steps back from Paris meetings with Kurdish-led SDF
Syria will not take part in planned meetings with Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) in Paris, Syria's state news agency quoted a government source as saying on Saturday, casting doubt over an integration deal signed by the two sides in March. The SDF was the main fighting force allied to the United States in Syria during the fighting that defeated Islamic State in 2019 after the group declared a caliphate across swathes of Syria and Iraq. In March, the SDF signed a deal with the new Islamist-led government in Damascus to join Syria's state institutions. The deal aims to stitch back together a country fractured by 14 years of war, paving the way for Kurdish-led forces that hold a quarter of Syria to merge with Damascus, along with regional Kurdish governing bodies. It did not specify how the SDF will be merged with Syria's armed forces, however. The SDF has previously said its forces must join as a bloc, while Damascus wants them to join as individuals. The source was quoted by the news agency SANA as saying that Damascus would not be involved in negotiations with any side that aims to 'revive the era of the former regime'.
CBS News
21 hours ago
- General
- CBS News
Crowley names new school for family who broke racial barriers
History — and the heroes behind it — often hide in plain sight. "Walking in that white school for the first time you know... it was a scary moment," recalls Billy Baylor of Crowley. "Yes, it was a very scary moment." It was a moment Baylor never forgot. It was 1965, and he and his siblings — Alton, Linda and Jackie — were stepping bravely into the buzzsaw of change and hate. The Baylors were the first Black family to integrate Crowley schools. "You had people on this side of the street yelling at you as you walked by," Baylor remembers. "You just walked on... try not to say nothing, just keep walking." Now 74, Baylor remembers with tears the betrayal of a white student who had convinced him he was a friend before luring the ninth grader outside to this. "The bus was here... and that's when all the kids started yelling at me... every kid on that bus. They [racial slur] me to death," Baylor recently shared for a Crowley ISD video on the family's history. "Everybody on that bus. I stared in a daze and then walked back in the building." He wipes his eyes and continues, "That happened, but a lot of people treated me well." Decades later, healing in Crowley will have the last word. It all began when Superintendent Michael McFarland became curious about the history of Black students in the area. A local author and historian, Sandie Isaacs, had written about a school for Black children before integration. McFarland wanted to know more. Isaacs led him to the Baylor family. "I'm like, 'Is any of the family around?'" recalls McFarland. "And she was like, 'Yes, he works at Russell Feed.' And I'm like, 'Oh, my gosh! Like it was like a lightning bolt.'" Then lightning struck again. Following McFarland's recommendation, the Crowley school board voted unanimously in February to make Baylor Elementary a reality. "When Mr. McFarland said 'Congratulations, Mr. Baylor,' I said 'Oh my God,'" said Baylor, wiping away more tears. "I was overwhelmed... I was very touched." And if you think that having the Baylor name on the building is special, consider this: his granddaughter Blair will be one of the new school's first students. "I try to keep telling my granddaughter, 'Hey, don't worry about what people call you. We know who we are. We are the Baylors.'" Still, it will be years before she and her classmates can fully understand what the honor cost her ancestors. But having their name on the building is a lesson of its own. "It's not just that they integrated the school," McFarland said. "But he integrated the school, remained in this community, and is just loved and beloved. So for someone to be able to go through all of that and then to still be here... that he chose, he chose love over hate." Even when the memories—and the tears—remain. "Mom, Dad, I made it," shares Baylor... and then, as he wipes his eyes again, "Quit crying, Bill!" It's OK. Some moments were made for tears.
Japan Times
2 days ago
- Japan Times
A journey to belong: Migrants describe 10 years in Europe
Ten years ago, 1 million migrants poured into Europe, fleeing conflict and poverty. Many had traveled for years in search of peace, prosperity or stability, and went on to find it in countries like Italy, Germany and Belgium. But the journey to truly belong continues. A decade on, after receiving asylum, finding work and learning new languages, many migrants feel torn. They are still homesick and wrestle with the possibility — or impossibility — of return. They remember the forests of northern Nigeria, a river through a town in Syria, but also the nightmare of child abuse in Afghanistan. Meanwhile, their presence has altered communities across the continent. They are part of a new, transformed Europe. Naziru Usman Abubakar When Naziru Usman Abubakar fled the city of Maiduguri in northern Nigeria in 2014 after violence by Boko Haram insurgents, he took his school certificate with him. Securing a higher education was vital to him and he wanted proof that he had attended school. The document got wet as he traveled on an overcrowded migrant boat from Libya to Italy in April 2016 and still bore the water stain when he used it to apply for a scholarship at Turin University years later. "That water mark is very significant. Whenever I see it, the history comes back. It reminds me of the journey," he said. His first home in Europe was a migrant reception center in Turin, where, with no word of Italian, university felt like an impossibility. He moved into his own place, started to learn the language, worked as a plumber and as a dishwasher at a restaurant. But after paying rent and bills, he had no money and was lonely. He missed Nigeria, where he used to race his friends to school on bikes and sought the cool air of the forests on hot days. He missed his mother, who had always encouraged his learning. Naziru Usman Abubakar, 28, a Nigerian from Maiduguri, fled a campaign of violence by Boko Haram insurgents in northern Nigeria in 2014 and arrived in Italy in 2016. | REUTERS "The dream of education fell away," he said. "I thought my life was wasted. I lost the meaning of everything." But things changed, eventually. He saw an advert online about scholarships and won one to study law at Turin University. He graduated in 2024. Europe had provided, but it was not easy. He described repeated incidents of racism, including being stopped by security on his first day at university and asked why he was entering campus. Today, Abubakar works at a migrant center, helping others with asylum applications. He hopes to apply for Italian citizenship in 2026. "I was able to attend school and had some opportunities. I can say that Italy has treated me well," he said. But for other migrants, he adds, Italy can be one of the most difficult places to live. Ehab Mzeal When Ehab Mzeal and his wife Aber Alabed arrived in Germany in 2015, the relief was overwhelming. Their journey from Deir el-Zor in Syria, where they faced threats from both Islamic State and government forces, through Turkey and the Balkans, had taken months. They suffered severe hunger and the constant risk of attacks. And then, peace. "I thought Europe was heaven ... I never imagined I'd arrive in Germany, a civilized country and the fourth-biggest economy in the world ... that was the dream," Mzeal, 41, said. That dream soon faded. Adapting to a new language and culture, without friends, was difficult. Mzeal, a former state employee, became depressed, but wanted to integrate for the sake of his children, Yasmeen, 16, and Haneen, 13. What helped lift his depression was the birth of his third daughter, Seleen, now 8. A son followed, 2-year-old Yussef. Mzeal jokes with his son Yussef Ehab Mzeal, 2, in the living room of their apartment in Luebeck, Germany | REUTERS Ten years on, the family lives in the northern German town of Luebeck. He works as a nurse in a care home. Life is simple. Sharing meals feels like a sanctuary. Mzeal is grateful for the shelter Germany gave his family — it is all his children know. "I like Germany for one reason: it stood by us," he said. He has never escaped the pull of home, but says he cannot return, even though Syria's former President Bashar al-Assad has fled. He still does not have German citizenship, which prevents him visiting Syria, and he worries about being deported. "We live in a tornado — unable to visit our country or truly settle here," he said. In between worlds, he is left with images: the people, the land, the trees of home. A canal that runs through Luebeck reminds him of a river in Deir el-Zor. He drives across it every day. "My heart and soul are in Deir el-Zor. No money, no homes or luxury in the world can compensate for what I've lost there," he said. Nadia Feyzi It is nearly 10 years since Nadia Feyzi arrived in Germany and still the 32-year-old Afghan refugee is in transit: living out of her car, and without valid residency in her adopted home. She arrived in Germany in 2016 with her then 8-year-old daughter. She had fled Afghanistan in 2001 after being forced into marriage at the age of 11 and giving birth at 14, later escaping to Iran and Turkey. German asylum authorities did not grant her full refugee status. Instead, she was given a temporary protection permit that needs annual renewal. Initially, things went well. Feyzi studied media design in Cologne. She worked as an assistant theater director. However, a few months later, child welfare authorities removed her daughter from her custody due to concerns over her housing situation and she remained in state care. Today they see each other but do not live together. Nadia Feyzi, 32, an Afghan artist, arrived in Germany in 2016 with her young daughter, marking the final step in a long journey from her native Afghanistan. | REUTERS Last year, Feyzi's renewal application received no response, leaving her without a work permit or state support. A Cologne city spokesperson declined to comment in detail on her case but said the permit could be renewed if the application was fully completed. Feyzi applied for more than 180 jobs over the past year and got none. She bounces between the houses of friends, siblings and her partner in the city of Bonn. She relies on her beloved silver Volkswagen, her primary residence, packed with her worldly belongings: clothes, hats, shoes, glassware, documents and a trusty makeup bag. Feyzi tries to keep strong, but tears well up whenever she recalls her past. She is writing a book, inspired by the lives of Afghan women over generations. She survives on a little savings and some freelance photography work. Despite the hardship she faced, Feyzi said she is "completely happy." She hopes her residency issues will be resolved. "This is my country now. I fought for 30 years to be here." Youssef Hammad Palestinian Youssef Hammad, 35, was born in Yemen but moved to Gaza at age 5. He left the enclave in December 2014, shortly after Israel ended its then military operation. He had worked as a journalist and translator in Gaza after earning a degree in 2012. But exhausted by war and seeking a brighter future, he decided to leave. He first traveled to Egypt, then to Turkey, from where he sought to reach Greece by boat. He attempted to cross from the Turkish city of Izmir six times within 20 days, but was intercepted by coastguards. On his seventh attempt, the boat's engine failed in international waters, and a rescue organization took him to the Greek island of Lesbos. "I was not scared; I saw it more as an adventure. The reality of the political and economic situation in Gaza made us fearless ... Even if I die, I'd die trying to achieve a part of my ambition, so it's okay to die," he recalled. On arrival in Greece in 2016, he was detained at a migrant center. He had a phone, some money and his Palestinian identity card which helped him obtain a six-month residence permit. He moved to Athens. An initial plan to study at Dublin University failed after he tried to travel with a British passport provided by a Syrian smuggler, but was caught at Athens airport. He then paid €2,500 ($2,890) for a French passport, with which he was able to enter France. Youssef Hammad, 35, a Palestinian from Gaza, holds his daughter as they sit and look out of their apartment window in Torhout, Belgium. "Gaza, for me, is the homeland I don't wish for, but it is still my homeland," Hammad said. | REUTERS In 2016, Hammad went to the Belgian capital Brussels, where his older brother lives. He applied for asylum, did voluntary work and learned Flemish. He obtained residency after 18 months. In February 2018, he settled in the city of Torhout. Over the years, he had remained in love with a Palestinian woman, Minas, who he had met in Gaza. He asked his family to meet her parents and ask for her hand. They agreed. He tried unsuccessfully to bring her to Belgium through a family reunification visa. He then asked a friend in France to send her an invitation, enabling her to apply for a visa. She arrived in Belgium in late 2018, applied for asylum, and later received residency. Hammad eventually became a supervisor at a textile factory, but also works as a waiter at weekends and translates at police stations and migrant centers. His wife works as an accountant and they have a 5-year-old daughter, Ellia. "I feel I partially belong here after nearly a decade," he said. He is ambitious: he ran in local elections and finished third. He still dreams of further study and becoming an academic. But he also dreams of visiting Gaza to see his family. Their conditions are dire. His grandmother, who was 98, died when his family was escaping bombardment. His cousin was killed, one of his nephews was injured, and his home was destroyed. "Gaza, for me, is the homeland I don't wish for, but it is still my homeland. ... We live here, but our minds are in Gaza, and all our feelings are in Gaza. Pain comes to us from Gaza."
The Guardian
3 days ago
- Business
- The Guardian
Integration classes and complaints offices: South Korea charts a path to a cohesive multicultural future
Russian words echo through the corridors of Gonjiam middle school as a woman from Uzbekistan addresses a classroom of teenagers still grappling with the Korean language. 'How do you speak with Korean friends?' she asks. The responses are halting. Some use translation apps. Others rely on classmates who speak better Korean to navigate school life. They are ethnic Korean children, mainly from former Soviet republics, caught between cultures in a country to which their parents moved for work and stability. Their instructor, Luiza Sakhabutdinova, an assistant professor who came to South Korea 17 years ago, is one of 39 mentors from 21 countries deployed in programmes nationwide to foster social cohesion. The sessions, part of a government-led programme in the city of Gwangju near Seoul, offer a glimpse into the country's approach to multiculturalism, where integration is not unfolding organically but is being carefully managed. Aleksei Niu, a 17-year-old from Russia placed two years below his grade level, is still struggling with the Korean language but appreciates the support he receives. 'I wish there were more lessons like this.' Hwang Byung-tae, the school's head teacher, points to success stories, including a former foreign student turned teacher at the school, as well as those who progressed all the way to university. 'Many foreign students who come here adapt well and succeed,' he says proudly. South Korea has traditionally been cautious toward immigration, priding itself on ethnic homogeneity. However, the country is edging toward a demographic milestone. With 2.11 million foreign residents as of June, accounting for 4.1% of the population, South Korea is nearing the 5% threshold that experts use to define a multicultural society. Economic reality is driving this shift. South Korea's fertility rate has fallen to 0.75, the lowest in the world, and its working-age population is projected to halve by 2070. Young Koreans, meanwhile, increasingly avoid jobs in manufacturing, agriculture, and construction – sectors now kept afloat by migrant labour. South Korea is trying to actively shape these changes in its demographic makeup. Its approach, using services and outreach, promotes the country's desire for cohesion, predictability and cultural unity. 'We want migrant children to have equal opportunities in Korean society,' says Park Chang-hyun from the justice ministry's immigration integration division. 'We want them to adapt well into society and be culturally comfortable so they can showcase their capabilities and talents.' In schools like Gonjiam's, this approach is evident in language support, after-school mentoring, and localised intervention. Nationwide, the government designates certain areas as 'multicultural zones' and integration programmes target specific groups, primarily ethnic Koreans from abroad, women from south-east Asia who marry Korean men and labourers in designated sectors. Nowhere is this approach clearer than in Ansan, an industrial city 25km southwest of Seoul that has become the government's de facto multicultural laboratory. Home to the Banwol and Sihwa industrial complexes, Ansan has long attracted migrant workers, similar to other cities like Gwangju, albeit on a far larger scale. Today, 14% of the city's population are foreign nationals from 117 countries, the highest proportion in the country. In the Wongok-dong neighbourhood, the figure rises to 84%. At Hope365, a nonprofit support centre, early adaptation courses run in 18 languages, covering everything from opening bank accounts and navigating healthcare to understanding Korean values and basic laws. Volunteers cook for immigrant children and provide after-school tutoring. Kim Myeong-soon, a Chinese Korean mother, has enrolled her child at the Hope365 centre. 'My kid really loves it and is getting a lot of help,' she says. 'The children here come from diverse backgrounds – Persian, Korean, Chinese, and despite some language barriers, they share different cultures and get along well together.' Just down the road, the foreign resident support centre offers Korean language classes, community services, and a multilingual library, part of the city's substantial investment in immigration infrastructure. Yet even here, where multiculturalism seems most advanced, well-intentioned efforts confront deeper structural challenges. The 'employment permit system', which governs most foreign labourers, gives employers outsized power over their staff, making it difficult for workers to escape exploitation or switch jobs. Critics argue that South Korea's approach still treats foreign workers primarily as labour units rather than as people seeking to build lives in the country, with many workers often enduring mistreatment including physical violence, and poor working conditions. A lithium battery plant fire in 2024 killed 23 workers, mostly Chinese nationals, underscoring the disproportionate risks foreign workers face, activists say. More recently, a video showing a foreign worker tied to bricks and lifted by a forklift at a factory prompted president Lee Jae Myung to condemn what he called a 'blatant violation of human rights.' In Ansan, the same support centre that hosts integration classes also doubles as a complaint office, handling a steady stream of cases involving wage theft, threats from employers, and workplace abuses. A 2024 survey by the Korea Institute for Health and Social Affairs (KIHASA) found that over 61% of Koreans now consider having foreign residents in their neighbourhood normal. Yet acceptance varies sharply by context and migrant type. While 79.7% support child allowances for permanent residents, only 45.3% back such benefits for migrant workers. Koreans also show higher acceptance in public spheres like workplaces than in private relationships. Concerns about public spending, crime, and job competition persist. Many migrant residents still face discrimination in daily interactions and sectors like banking. They have little recourse, as the country has never enacted comprehensive anti-discrimination legislation. A recent high-profile case in the south-eastern city of Daegu, where vehement opposition to the reconstruction of a small mosque included pigs' heads left at the site, highlighted tensions. According to KIHASA's YoonKyung Kwak, current integration efforts are 'fundamentally one-sided' as they focus on educating migrants, not the host society. 'What truly matters is whether Koreans see migrants as equal members of society – not merely as temporary workers or economic tools,' she said. 'Moving beyond an instrumental perspective toward a genuine sense of shared community is the next critical step for meaningful integration.'
South China Morning Post
3 days ago
- Politics
- South China Morning Post
Singapore's children of migrants can build bridges to rest of Asia
One in three marriages in Singapore is a transnational union. Each year, Singapore naturalises about 20,000 new citizens and grants another 30,000 permanent residency status, many of them children and young people. These two demographic trends are creating a generation of young Singaporeans who are invisible yet in plain sight – ethnically Asian and seamlessly integrated into local life yet carrying deep cultural and familial connections to our regional neighbours. While debates in the last few years over National Day posters featuring migrants sparked heated discussions about Singaporean identity, we have overlooked a more profound transformation already under way. Singapore is producing a unique population that challenges conventional thinking about immigration and integration: second-generation immigrants who face neither the racial barriers nor the social isolation often experienced by immigrant communities elsewhere. My four-year research project reveals that Singapore's approach to integrating the children of migrants has created dual outcomes. On one hand, it has achieved remarkable integration success as these young people blend into Singaporean society. On the other, it has erased their immigrant backgrounds and regional connections, missing a strategic opportunity for soft power. Two demographic trends are reshaping Singapore's population in ways official statistics don't fully capture. First is the rise in Singaporean-foreigner marriages, which has remained stable at roughly one-third of all marriages. Initially driven by Singaporean men marrying foreign women , we now also see increasing numbers of Singaporean women marrying foreign men. Most children from these unions take Singapore citizenship while maintaining cultural and linguistic ties to their parents' countries of origin.
